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THE  WHITE  SAIL,  AND  OTHER  POEMS.   i6mo, 

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THE  MARTYRS'  IDYL,  AND  SHORTER  POEMS. 

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HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  CO. 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK. 


The  Martyrs'  Idyl 

And  Shorter  Poems 


BY  LOUISE  IMOGEN  GUINEY  f 

••  © 


f  BOSTON  AND    NEW  YORK  g 

§          HOUGHTON,   MIFFLIN   AND   COMPANY 
<Cbe  fifoetfibe 


COPYRIGHT,  1899,  BY  LOUISE  IMOGEN  GUINEY 
ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED 


THE    MARTYRS'   IDYL 

TO  KATHARINE  AND  GILES 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  MARTYRS'  IDYL  .    .    .    .   i 
SHORTER  POEMS 

THE    SQUALL     .  .  •    *  •  -33 

MEMORIAL   DAY    .  .  ...  •  37 

ROMANS    IN    DORSET  .  •  •  •       38 

VALSE    JEUNE 4* 

THE    CHANTRY*  .  -  •  •  •       4* 

MONOCHROME  .   .*  •  •  43 

THE    VIGIL   IN    TYRONE        .  •  .44 

"BECAUSE    NO    MAN    HATH    HIRED    US"     .  48 

AN    OUTDOOR    LITANY  .  .  .  •       5° 

VIRGO    GLORIOSA,   MATER   AMANTISSIMA   .  5a 

FOUR    COLLOQUIES       .  .  •  •  •       54 

SANCTUARY  .  .  •  •  •  58 

ORISONS  .  .  »  •  •  •  «59 

THE    INNER    FATE :    A  CHORUS  .  .60 

OF   JOAN'S    YOUTH     .  .  •  •  .       6z 

BY    THE    TRUNDLE-BED  .  .  .  63 

THE    ACKNOWLEDGMENT     .  .  .  .64 

ARBORICIDE  .....  65 

CHARISTA    MUSING 67 

THE    PERFECT    HOUR       .             .             .  69 

DEO   OPTIMO    MAXIMO          .            .             .            •       7° 
IN    TIME   OF    TROUBLE    .             .            .            •  7* 

AN    ESTRAY 73 

M188261 


VI  CONTENTS 

BORDERLANDS  ......       75 

TO  THE  OUTBOUND  REPUBLIC  I  MDCCCXCVIII  76 
ODE  FOR  A  MASTER  MARINER  ASHORE  .  78 
THE  RECRUIT  .  .  .  .81 


THE  MARTYRS'  IDYL1 


I 

Sunset.     A  high  rocky  pasture  above  Alexandria.     In 

the  year  of  Our  Lord  304. 

Didymus,  a  young  soldier,  enters  and  throws  himself 
down. 

Didymus. 

] HIS   mound   is  sweet  to  me.    All  my 

blood  aches, 

Since  driven  onward  like  a  dark  hill- 
cloud, 

Dizzy  with  secret  lightnings  nowhere  spent, 
I  chase  yon  happy  sun  to  his  bright  death, 
Alas,  I  know  not  whither :  but  I  know 
I  shall  not  see  the  myriad  shields  uphung 
In  camp  to-night,  nor  on  our  cypresses 
Smoke  rise  and  sink  in  loath  blue  fountain  spray. 
So  far,  so  far  I  drift  from  even  them 
Who  fill  one  gourd  with  me,  who  cheer  my  heart, 
Who  come  in,  warm  and  singing,  to  the  tent, 
And  miss  me  who  am  gone  away,  I  think, 
Forever,  though  a  day  ;  out  of  their  world, 

1  The  outlines  of  this  story,  and  much  of  the  dialogue,  in  Scenes 
II.,  IV.  and  V.,  are  taken  from  the  Acta  Sanctorum  and  S.  Ambrose. 


Though  over  a  few  leagues  of  upland  grass  ! 

Why  hast  Thou  laid  on  me  magic  of  pain, 

God  unrevealed  ?    Was  I  drawn  from  sleep, 

Man's  duty,  body's  health,  to  be  mere  wind, 

Wind  undirected  over  fallow  wastes  ? 

What  wouldst  Thou  ask  of  me,  no  sword  of  Thine, 

No  ark  of  service  ?     Yet  aware  of  Thee 

I  am  and  shall  be.     All  my  thought,  outspread, 

Is  open  unto  Thee :  a  lonely  beach 

Where  the  wide  sobbing  surf  ebbs  everywhere, 

And,  hard  upon  each  dawn-encolored  wave, 

Flutters  the  wavy  line  of  drying  sand 

Back  to  the  verge :  the  white  line,  shadow-quick, 

Thrilling  there  in  the  dark :  an  earthen  gleam, 

Vain  huntress  of  the  sea.     Suffer  me  now 

To  follow  and  attain  Thee,  fugitive, 

And  be  my  rest,  who  hast,  my  whole  life  long, 

Been  mine  unrest :  implored,  immortal  Love  ! 

A  Child  enters,  with  a  reed,  wearing  a  wreath  of 
thorns  in  his  hair. 

The  Child.  Soldier,  pipe  up  for  me,  a  herd-boy, 

glad 
Because  his  flocks  are  folded. 

Didymus.  Ah,  not  I ! 

My  star  is  withered ;  I  am  man  no  more. 
Sigh  after  sigh  the  builder  Grief  takes  up, 
To  heighten  over  me  her  gradual  arch. 


THE  MARTYRS'  IDYL  3 

The  Child.    An  arch  of  entrance  to  a  generous 

garden, 

Where  spirits  and  the  moonlit  waters  are. 
Take  comfort  ! 

Didymus.        Thou  art  a  strange  child,  methinks, 
To  say  that  too  wise  word. 

The  Child.  Remember,  then, 

'T  was  breathed  to  thee  at  Alexandria, 
In  early-dying  April's  golden  air. 

Didymus.    Do  I   lie  here,   who   deemed  myself 

afar  ? 
I  had  forgot;   I  am  foolish,  lost,  bewildered. 

The    Child.    O   mine   elect :    be   patient !    .    .    . 

Listen  now. 

There  is  an  evening  anthem  in  my  reed  ; 
And  while  the  laurels  sparkle,  and  sun-lit, 
The  mother-swallow  dips  into  her  cave, 
And  doves  move  close  along  their  bridal  bough, 
Murmuring  sorrow,  I  will  play  to  thee. 

Didymus.    I  thank    thee,   boy,   for    I    may    fall 

asleep. 
The   Child.    Rather   shalt  wake,   and    from   thy 

doubt  be  born ! 
Lean  so,  against  my  knee. 

[The  Child  plays,  a  long  time. 

O  Didymus, 

With  thy  shut  eyes,  thy  youth  undedicate, 
Tell  me  the  name  of  this  new  pastoral. 


4  THE  MARTYRS'  IDYL 

Didymus  (asleep).    He  said  :  "  My  yoke  is  sweet, 

My  burden  light." 
O  light,  O  sweet,  perchance,  as  it  was  said  ! 

The  Child.    True  heart !     The  hour  rounds  up ; 

thy  wine-press  waits; 
And  so  this  music  fades  :  the  silver  tones 
Thin  out,  and  faintly  drip  delight,  and  cease, 
No  willing  man  nor  bird  hears  how.     Good-night, 

0  soon-made-perfect ! 

II 

Night.    The  same  fields.     Didymus  wakes ',  alone. 

Didymus.  It  is  black,  and  chill. 

My  little  piper 's  gone.  .  .  .  How  I  have  dreamed, 
How  I  have  dreamed !     Lord,  gather  quietly 
All  wild  hearts  like  mine  own  into  Thy  hand. 
Yet  on  the  look  of  these  fresh-kindled  stars 

1  feed,  as  if  their  bright  benignant  lips 
Betimes  had  kissed  the  fever  out  of  me, 
And  given  to  me  their  seat  in  warless  air, 
Their  naked  majesty,  their  poignant  calm. 
Not  less  remote  my  spirit,  not  less  free, 
After  this  unimaginable  sleep  ; 

Having  changed  place,  indeed,  poor  moth  that  was ! 
With  vast  abiding  things  :   for  now  are  cast 
Old  bonds,  old  ardors,  expectation,  ease, 
Glory  and  death,  beloved  land  and  sea. 


IDYL  5 

Even  as  walled  frost  that  feels  the  solar  ray, 

Curls  up,  impermanent,  and  reels  far  down 

In  long  blue  films,  elfin,  processional, 

While   the   built   stones   fall   to   their    first   grave 

hue, 

De-silvered  :  so  the  awful  powers  of  earth 
Exhale  from  me  who  stand  the  same ;  for  these 
Are  vain,  these  are  phantasmal,  but  not  I. 
At  last  I  know  myself,  and  know  my  need 
As  simply  as  a  young  child  might,  who  cries 
For  honey  from  his  father's  liberal  hive. 
I  will  go  down  at  dawn  ;  I  will  seek  out 
The  Christian  bishop,  who  shall  lift  me  up, 
A  soul  baptized.  .  .  .  Some  lanthorn  is  beyond, 
And  moving.     Hail,  there  !     Would  that  I  could 

say, 
u  The  gods  be  kind  to  thee !  " 

A  Voice.  And  why  not,  friend  ? 

Thou  greetest  Cratidas,  an  old  sad  man, 
On  his  home-going  track, 

Didymus.  I  too  would  house 

A  head  as  sad  as  thine  :  pause  but  a  space ; 
I  '11  find  thee  on  the  road.     Now  pray  thee  tell 
Whose  farms  are  these  ?     His  little  herd-boy  passed, 
And  spake  or  sang  to  me :  Oh,  if  he  were 
An  angel,  or  a  Greater ! 

Cratidas.  What  art  thou  ? 

Didymus.    One  from  the  camp  Nicopolis. 


6  THE  MARTYRS'  IDYL 

Cratidas.  I  ask, 

Leal  to  the  State,  or  Christian  ?    . 

Didymus.  In  this  dark, 

Imperial  Diocletian's  telltale  dark, 
And  even  to  the  sober  ears  of  eld, 
What  danger  in  the  word  !     But  now  and  here, 
Danger  I  love  as  if  she  were  my  fawn. 
Turn  the  lamp  full  this  way  :  I  '11  answer  thee. 
A  true-accounted  Christian  I  am  not : 
Afar  from  them  my  nurture ;  but  I  heard 
How  my  young  mother,  long  now  in  her  urn, 
Received  them  :  whence  aroma  of  their  prayers 
Haunted  our  dwelling  ever.     In  the  wars, 
I  have  been  sick  with  longing  and  half-faith, 
Last  year  and  this  ;  that  prickle  has  lived  on, 
Till  every  natural  mirth  is  dead  in  me. 
In  the  shunned  name  of  Christ,  I  know  not  how, 
Some  harvest  of  mine  innermost  desire 
Is  sown,  is  springing  up.     Art  satisfied, 
Father  who  servest  Jove  ? 

Cratidas.  Accursed  creed !  — 

Sir,  there  my  hasty  tongue  spake  for  my  heart. 
A  rebel  girl  I  loved  forsook  me  late, 
Bit  with  the  Galilean  pestilence. 
It  rages,  and  it  rots  our  best :  be  warned. 
I  am  no  spy  ;  I  will  befriend  thee.     Come. 

Didymus.    Thou  livest  nigh  ? 

Cratidas.    Not  far.     Where  yon  sole  gem 


THE    MARTYRS      IDYL  7 

Swings  from  the  new  moon's  girdle,  is  my  hearth, 
'  Twixt  grove  and  grove :  a  solitary  place, 
Since  Theodora  went.     Hark  !   .  .  . 

Didymus.  Sound  of  horror  ! 

The  city's  anger  must  be  under  it. 

Cratidas.    Ah  me,  I  tremble  :  my  poor  lamb  's 

the  cause 

Of  such  blind  fury.     Bitter,  is  it  not, 
That  her  last  kinsman,  hearing,  cannot  help  her  ? 

Didymus.    Cratidas,  I  would  help  !     Read  pos 
sible  aid 
In  this  firm-sinewed  arm.     Speak. 

Cratidas.  That  I  do, 

As  unto  a  well-wisher.     I  distrust 
Our  fickle  and  tempestuous  populace, 
Greek,  Roman,  Jew,  Egyptian,  multiform. 
Ah,  the  uproar !   I  had  not  thought  to  find  it 
So  fierce,  so  soon. 

Didymus.  Speak  quickly  ! 

Cratidas.  Loose  my  wrist. 

Many  light  things  are  heavy  to  the  old  : 
Therefore,  let  me  not  feel  thy  touch  again, 
The  while  I  talk,  and  guide  across  the  dew. — 
I,  weeping  in  the  hall,  some  three  days  since, 
Saw  Theodora  tried.     Aloft  he  sat, 
Eustratius  Proculus :  no  steely  man, 
But  wise  and  gracious,  in  the  prefect's  chair. 
I  do  not  blame  him.     (Mark  the  sudden  gaps 


8  THE  MARTYRS'  IDYL 

Along  our  path.)     Eustratius  Proculus, 

The  gold  and  purple  fringing  his  white  robe, 

In  a  domed  chamber,  on  a  curving  throne ; 

And  next  the  lighted  jasper  altar,  wheeled 

Far  up  the  floor,  boxed  incense  piled  thereby, 

Tall  Theodora,  like  the  lotus-flower 

That  rides  a  flooded  stream  ;  lictors  and  priests, 

Notaries,  naked  executioners, 

Ranged  thick  about.     The  prefect  so  began  : 

"  Proclaim  thyself."     "  A  maid  named  Theodora, 

Ward  of  her  aged  cousin,  Cratidas." 

"  What  is  thine  age  ? "     «  They  tell  me,  seventeen 

years." 

"And  thy  condition  ?  "     Whereto  she  replied  : 
"  Christ's."     Very  patiently  he  asked  : 
"  Art  bond  or  free  ?  "  as  runs  the  rote  of  law. 
She  smiled  in  answering :    "  Free :   made  free  by 

Christ ; 

Else,  of  free  parents  honorably  born, 
Rhoxis  and  Herais,  who  both  are  dead." 
"  Then  why  unmarried  ? "     "  For  Christ's  sake," 

she  said, 

"  I  have  been  busied  with  the  things  of  Christ :  " 
(For  none  could  quench  that  hectic  "  Christ  "  in 

her, 

Poor  fool  !)     Then  spake  Eustratius  Proculus  : 
"  Our  code  imperial  deals  with  virgins  thus : 
Either  unto  the  gods  they  sacrifice, 


Or  in  an  infamous  place  shall  be  exposed. 

Come :  one  small  grain  within  the  brazier  dropped, 

And  thou  dost  forfeit  all  pollution  so, 

Nor  lose  thy  burial-rites."     She,  blanching  not, 

Looked  up.     u  Thou  art  not  ignorant,  nor  I, 

How  man's  cooperate  or  revolted  will 

Doth  color,  in  the  councils  of  high  Heaven, 

Both  what  we  do,  and  suffer.     Violence, 

Though  sent  to  seek  my  soul,  shall  by  her  gate 

Sit  pilgrim-meek.     Christ  keeps  His  citadel." 

The  prefect  bent  again,  compassionate  : 

"  O  girl  !  rememberest  not  thy  sires  august  ? 

Pity  thy  beauty,  heirloom  of  their  house, 

And  precious  most  in  thee.     Choose  to  obey ; 

Since  even  thee  my  duty  cannot  spare." 

But  she  :  "  The  nail-pierced  Hands  that  have  my 

vow, 

Defend  it."     "  Save  thyself,"  he  cried,  "  and  trust 
No  crucified  ghost.     From  foul  disgrace 
Snatch  thine  own  youth."     And  she :  "  Behold,  I 

do. 

Christ  is  my  source  of  honor,  and  mine  end  : 
Christ  shall  be  my  preserver."     Next  I  heard : 
"  Buffet  her  twice."    Then :  "  Wilt  thou  sacrifice  ? " 
My  Theodora  of  the  reddened  cheek 
Seemed  absent  from  the  body  for  a  space, 
Before  she  uttered :  "  No."     "  Child,  I  am  grieved 
For  such  affront,  which  all  our  city  sees. 


io  THE  MARTYRS'  IDYL 

Thy  quality  invites  another  usage, 

Wert  thou  not  crazed."     He  paused,  being  full  of 

ruth; 

But  self-relentless,  she  in  that  same  pause 
Brake  forth  :  "  O  my  one  Wisdom,  O  my  Joy  !  " 
And  last,  Eustratius  Proculus  rose  up  : 
"  The  edict  !  Let  it  work.     I  dally  not, 
For  loyal  and  immovable  regard 
Unto  mine  Emperor."     "  Bid  me  stand  as  true," 
She  murmured,  "  in  allegiance  to  a  Power, 
Before  whom  sceptred  Diocletian  shines 
Brief  as  this  puffing  coal."     "  Ai,  blasphemy  !  " 
The  vast  crowd  thundered.     So  they  led  her  down 
Into  a  three  days'  torture  in  the  prison  ; 
And  to  the  draped  tribunal,  all  unchanged, 
This  eve  she  came.     Said  I,  indeed,  unchanged  ? 
Her  spirit  and  speech  were  that ;  her  body  swayed 
Hither  and  thither :  a  candle  in  a  draught. 

O 

Some  scrupled  naught  to  praise  such  blithe  disdain, 
Immaculate,  illumined ;  who  e'er  knew 
Disdain  could  wear  a  look  so  like  to  Love's  ? 
And  thrice  Eustratius  Proculus  read  out 
Sentence,  whereby  the  virgin  Theodora, 
A  Christian  obdurate  and  impious, 
Must  die  indeed,  but  first  must  be  immured, 
Until  the  day  break,  in  the  house  of  shame. 
He  ended  :  u  May  thy  God  for  thee  achieve 
The  best  He  can  !  "  She  added  :  "Ay,  He  will. 


THE  MARTYRS'  IDYL  n 

As  Daniel  from  the  lions,  from  the  deeps 

Jonah ;  from  furnace-heats  the  unbought  three ; 

Peter  from  dungeon  chains ;  as  yesterday 

Our  Agnes  from  the  Roman  ignominy, 

Shall  I  be  rescued :   He  is  faithful  yet." 

Softly  she  prayed  :  "  Lord,  Lord  !  deliver  straight 

Thy  bounden  servant,  overshadowing 

Thine  own,  in  dread  mid-battle,  with  Thy  wing. 

Out  of  Thy  mercy,  let  them  harm  me  not : 

By  thy  most  bitter  Passion  borne  for  man, 

0  Fount  of  chastity,  O  Fortitude 

Of  all  Thy  saints,  Jesu !  remember  me." 
Thus,  in  that  voice  which  I  shall  hear  no  more. 

1  turned  away,  dragging  my  leaden  limbs 
Hillward,  and  homeward. 

Didymus.  And  these  shouts,  these  shouts, 

Incessant,  brutal,  terrible,  they  mean  — 

Cratidas.    That  now  the  lictors  drive  her  forth ; 

they  mean 

Quick  menace  to  a  never-soiled  blossom 
Of  Hellas  come,  and  her  heroic  seed. 
Ah,  well :  she  will  recant ;  she  must  recant.  — 
My  young  hound  bays  her  welcome.     Enter,  sir.  — 
What !  Gone  ?  An    armored  man  swooped  like  a 

hawk 

Down  the  sheer  ledges  to  the  city's  core  ? 
Beware,  my  fiery  nameless  half-a-Christian, 
Hot  for  romance,  beneath  the  stars  of  spring  ! 


12  THE    MARTYRS      IDYL 

Well,  well,  well,  well  !  Down,  Demo.     I  believe 
He  '11  somehow  free  her :  we  shall  have  her  back, 
Good    Demo.  .  .  .  Tut !    of   all    the  wild    hawk- 
swoops  ! 

Ill 

Midnight.     A  brothel.     Theodora  alone. 
Didymus  breaks  in. 

Didymus.    Grant  me  forgiveness,  lady  Theodora ! 
And  fear  not.     I  have  spent  my  breath  of  life, 
Beating  the  human  hurricane  outside, 
To  reach  thee  first  of  any.     Piteous  thing, 
Flutter  not  to  and  fro ;  thy  net  is  cut : 
No  carrion  crow  shall  ever  prey  on  thee, 
White  dove !  The  evil  room  's  alive  with  light, 
Thy  light  shed  out ;  nor  am  I  longer  dark, 
Who  see,  feel,  bathe  in  it.     Oh,  what  a  stream, 
Full  from  within,  as  through  a  lattice  door, 
Widens  around  thee  in  an  aureole ; 
From  lifted  eyes,  loose  hair,  and  hands  unlocked, 
Gushes  the  even  glory  !     While  I  look, 
So  bright,  thou  seraph  of  the  golden  blood, 
Rains  that  pure  fire  on  me,  that  now  I  know 
Of  what  clear  essence  thou,  not  less  am  I ; 
Yea,  I  with  thee,  and  all  my  thoughts  with  thine, 
Run  up  before  our  God  in  one  straight  flame. 
Child,  I  am  here  to  help  thee  :  Didymus, 
A  Cappadocian. 


THE  MARTYRS'  IDYL  13 

Theodora.  Heaven  be  thanked,  and  thou, 

For  I  believe  thee  !   Cappadocia  : 
Was  it  not  there  the  blessed  Dorothy 
Brought  apples  to  her  lover,  after  death, 
In  token  of  the  riches  of  that  orchard 
Where  Christ  walks  with  His  own  ?     Let  us  go 
thither. 

Didymus.    Ah,  muse  no  more. 

Theodora.  The  Lord  abide  with  thee  ! 

Didymus.    Though  unto  me  thy  voice  be  like  the 

foam 

Upon  a  wave  of  quiet,  thy  delay 
Dearer  than  wine  of  roses,  rouse  thee  :  haste  ! 
How  else  can  I  the  pact  maintain  with  Him 
Who  bade  me  loose  thee  from  the  snare  ?     Come 

nigh: 

Doff  thine  apparel ;  put  mine  armor  on. 
Think  but  of  flight,  and  safety. 

Theodora.  Winged  one, 

Best  brother,  brighter  than  a  star,  and  stronger, 
Uphold  me ! 

Didymus.    Bind  thy  locks.     Alas,  I  am 
No  angel  sent  of  Christ,  nor  yet  a  Christian. 

Theodora.    Why    dwell     in     lowland    shadow  ? 

Thou,  ere  long, 

Must  drink  of  grace  divine  the  deathless  light. 
On,  happy  soul :  for  there  are  hills  to  climb, 
E'en  Calvary  hill. 


14  THE  MARTYRS'  IDYL 

Didymus.  Art  thou  not  vested  yet  ? 

The  minutes  seethe  and  rush.     Oh,  had  I  time, 
I  'd  tell  thee  of  my  pangs :  how  it  has  been 
From  march  to  march  with  me ;  how  vehemently 
The  sluices  brake  in  this  tormented  heart, 
Last  night,  ten  lives  ago  ;  how  on  yon  heights 
A  boy,  (not  sweeter  Hyacinthus  was,) 
Having  a  pensive  garland  of  green  thorns 
Intrailed  among  his  auburn  curls,  came  by, 
And  with  his  new-cut  reed,  and  myrrhy  lip, 
Entranced  me  into  slumber;  how  I  saw 
Thy  foster-father,  and  walked  on  with  him, 
And  heard  thy  sacred  story  :  thence  I  sprang 
Into  this  hell,  where  I  for  thee  shall  answer. 
And  do  thou  plead  with  Christ,  for  me  His  thrall. 
Theodora.    The   thong :   pray  knot  it  !      Gentle 

Didymus, 

Here  is  my  robe  :  the  stuff  is  torn ;  the  stains 
Began    'neath    sharpened    spikes,    the    hooks,    the 

rack. 
Didymus.    For  dress  of  mine,  good  in  the  foray 

once, 

That  keeps  thee  and  a  holy  dream  intact, 
Thou  giv'st  me  this,  strangely  to  make  of  me 
The  athlete  of  thy  Lord.     Well,  give  it  so  : 
I  kiss  each  dear  and  venerable  stain, 
And  lay  the  rended  linen  over  me : 
Would  I  were  worthier ! 


THE  MARTYRS'  IDYL  15 

Theodora.  Cratidas  the  fond 

Has  somehow  faded  from  me,  and  our  roof 
Among  the  date-palms,  and  my  dial  old, 
Set  in  the  myrtle  plot  that  takes  the  sun. 
But  thou  art  close  and  real  :  thou  hast  seen 
The  Mystical,  the  Virgin-born  :  his  name 
Not  Hyacinthus,  but  Emmanuel. 
(Much  have  I  startled  thee,  who  art  so  brave  !) 
None  shared  with  me  that  vision  until  now. 
It  was  to  Him  I  pledged  my  early  troth, 
Towards  whom  I  live,  for  whom  I  look  to  die; 
Whose  love  was  sovereign  healing  unto  me, 
When  late  within  the  torture-cell  I  lay. 
His  chosen  other,  kneel  not  thou  to  me ! 
There  is  a  Hand  that  will  not  let  thine  fall, 
As  mine  doth. 

Didymus.          Sign  me  slowly  with  the  cross. 

Theodora.  So :   on  predestined  brows. 

Didymus  (after  a  pause).  Thy  sandal 's  fast, 

The  breastplate  firm  and  fine,  each  joint  in  place ; 
Draw  low  the  vizor ;  let  the  short  cloak  hang ; 
And  stoop  in  issuing  forth  :   step  hurriedly, 
As  one  ashamed,  whom  his  loud  sins  pursue. 
Go  thus,  secure. 

Theodora.  Thou  shalt  not  always  hunger  ! 

O  thy  requital :  might  I  see  it ! 

Didymus.  Go : 

Go,  even  as  I  said. 


J6  THE  MARTYRS'  IDYL 

Theodora.  I  am  so  weak  : 

What  if  I  cannot  ? 

Didymus.  Hush  :  unbar  the  door, 

And  front  the  pack.  —  My  sister,  my  twin-born, 
Live  thy  sequestered  life ;  and  pray  for  me. 

[Theodora  goes. 

Ah,  gracer  of  our  Roman  mail  !     I  hear 
No  smallest  rumor  that  her  passage  makes, 
Not  one  least  vicious  snarl  or  jeer  the  more. 
I  dare  to  dream  Thou  hast  accepted  this, 
My  true  task  in  the  world  !   By  now,  I  think, 
She  leaves  behind  the  fetid  neighborhood ; 
A  moment  more,  and  her  accustomed  feet 
Will  be  among  the  vineyards  and  the  folds. 
The  little  weary  feet  wounded  for  Thee, 
Do  Thou  sustain  ! .  .  .  They  come. 

IV 

Midnight.  The  city  square  outside.  Didymus  in  the 
arched  doorway  of  the  same  house.  A  turbulent 
crowd  around. 

The  Bailiff.  Give  way,  give  way  ! 

Order  among  ye,  subjects,  citizens ; 
Order,  I  say  !     A  seaman,  in  this  dark, 
Would  swear  he  heard  the  angry  equinox 
Gorging  and  emptying  the  island  caves  : 
A  swash  of  death,  where  he  had  hoped  for  haven. 


IDYL  17 

Whence   the    commotion,  that,  from  well-earned 

beds 

Untimely  drags  your  rulers  ?     Ibrahim, 
Or  Rufus,  any  of  you  with  unslit  tongue, 
Speak  ! 

A  Voice.  At  me  that  am  terror-struck  they  laugh, 
Who  was  the  first  to  find  him  :   Come,  mock  not 
Too  easily,  but  measure  what  I  saw  ! 
I  heard,  and  ye  too  heard,  in  likelihood, 
What  I  called  fable,  that  this  Christian  God 
Changed  water  into  wine ;  yet  in  night's  eye, 
A   slim   maid   that   was   shut   'twixt    four  known 

walls, 

Your  Christian  God  turns  to  a  brawny  youth, 
Whom  seven  men  and  myself  barely  haled  hither. 

Didymus.  Murmur  not,  wonder  not :  ye  are  broad 

awake. 

No  trick  hath  been,  nor  am  I  one  transformed. 
Whom  late  ye  thought  to  have,  lo,  ye  have  lost ; 
And  whom  ye  have  unwitting,  ye  may  keep. 
There  is  a  twofold  glory  on  the  hour  : 
A  virgin  is  a  virgin  still,  and  I, 
The  empire's  soldier,  champion  of  her  King. 

A  Voice.  A  generous  comedy  ! 

Another  Voice.  Dost  applaud  it  ?     Ay  ? 

The  Crowd.  See    him    in  the  doorway,  yellow- 
gowned  ; 
See  the  young  beauty  in  his  flower !  O  Pan  ! 


i8  THE  MARTYRS'  IDYL 

The  Bailiff.  Among  these  loud  boors  press  your 

torches  in. 
Back  !     Let  the  prefect  pass. 

Eustratius  Proculus  is  borne  into  the  square. 

A  Voice.  Now  shall  we  view 

The  snorting  tiger-dam  at  bay,  the  while 
The  cub  's  concealed. 

The  Prefect.  Be  silent  !      Clear  with  rods 

The  threshold  of  that  house  :  the  accused  alone 
Shall  stand  there.      Hither  and  together  call 
The  trumpeters,  for  I  this  cause  arraign 
In  open  air. 

[The  trumpets  sound. 
Who  so  disturbs  the  streets, 
With  the  grave  ends  of  justice  interferes, 
And  draws  contempt  on  me  ?     What  roysterer, 
What  prince  of  Alexandria's  worst  ? 

Didymus.  I  think 

It  must  be  Christ  Himself,  or  Christ  in  me, 
Since  in  His  quarrel  I  stand  ambushed  thus. 

The  Prefect.  His  talk  is  echo. 

The  Bailiff.  Learned  of  lady-love  ! 

Dull  matter  all  :   sheep  filing  over  bars, 
One  hobble  without  end. 

A  Voice.  Thy  Theodora  — 

Didymus.  Revere  that  name ;  for  she  is  Christ's 
alone, 


Not  mine,  not  mine.     Whithersoever  goes 
The  Lamb  in  Heaven,  such  do  follow  Him. 

The    Prefect.     Enough :     with     quick     straight 
forward  words  respond. 
Who  art  thou,  chief  in  this  unseemly  brawl  ? 

Didymus.    One  new  to  camp  and  city,  one  in 
deed 

No  alien,  but  your  servant  in  the  wars, 
Beneath  the  imperial  eagles  now  three  years  : 
Octavius  Didymus,  centurion. 

The   Prefect.    A   Roman,  then.     What   of  thy 

friend,  the  woman, 
Duly  condemned  for  heinous  sacrilege? 

Didymus.  The  innocent  Theodora  is  set  free. 
In  as  a  thief  came  I  who  gave  such  good, 
But  never  greeted  her,  nor  saw,  nor  heard, 
Up  to  our  late  accost  in  this  vile  pen. 

A  Voice.  How  now,  neighbors  ?     A  joker. 

Another  Voice.  Or  a  liar. 

The  Crowd.  More  like,  a  fellow-Christian. 

Didymus.  Why  a  Christian  ? 

The  Prefect.  If  not  a  Christian,  it  rejoiceth  me, 
Aweary  grown  of  all  the  casuist  breed. 
I  deem  thou  art  sincere.     The  charge  is  light ; 
The  penalty  shall  therefore  too  be  light, 
Since  thou  thyself  of  prior  circumstance 
Wert  plainly  unaware  ;  and  forasmuch 
In  thy  regard,  our  judged  idolatress 


20  THE  MARTYRS'  IDYL 

Was  one  with  any  whimsied  wench,  cajoling 
A  frolic  hand  to  let  her  out  o'  doors. 

Didymus.  Let  us  not  fail  in  truth  :  sir,  I  knew 

this. 
My  soul's  defiance  glowed  in  all  I  wrought. 

A  Voice.    By    Pompey's    certain    pillar,  he  's   a 

Christian  ! 

The  prancing  gesture,  see :  the  head  upcast, 
The  bosom  all  in  a  white  wrath,  and  yet 
Bridled  and  bitted  :  that 's  their  duplex  way. 

The  Prefect.   I  hesitate. 

The  Crowd.  Eustratius  Proculus, 

We  take  him  for  a  Christian  ! 

The  Prefect.  Prisoner, 

Attend,  and  ease  our  cares.     Obediently 
Unto  the  known  gods  wilt  thou  sacrifice? 

[Didymus  is  silent. 
Art  thou  a  Christian  :  nay  ? 

Didymus.  Tell  me. 

The  Prefect.  Alas, 

Why  loath  to  sacrifice  ?     Do  thou  but  so, 
Irreverence  to  the  law  shall  be  condoned, 
And  for  the  brave  adventure  of  a  night, 
No  tax  be  laid. 

Didymus.  I  sacrifice  no  more. 

Who  hath  inspired  me  ?      I  can  but  attest 
One  Infinite  loved  her  for  her  confident  eyes. 
Would  we  were  open  to  the  heart  of  things  ! 


THE    MARTYRS      IDYL  21 

For  if  He  keeps  without  spot,  as  some  say, 
Those  leal  to  Him,  is  it  not  wonderful  ? 
And  Him  thus  fair  reputed,  Him  untried, 
Shall  I  reject  ?      I  sacrifice  no  more, 
Save  to  the  Living :  save  to  Him  who  died, 
And  rose  again. 

The  Bailiff.         Ye  hear. 

A  Voice.  A  leprous  word  ! 

The  Prefect.    It  is  a  difficult  hour  :  I  must  com 
port 

Myself  within  mine  office,  steadfastly. 
Bring  me  the  writ.     One  act  is  mine  to  do  : 
Another  time  for  fond  alternatives ! 
Though  fain  to  spare,  fain  to  respect  in  thee, 
Arms,  broadening  empire,  and  invincible  Rome, 
I  that  would  never,  fighting  civic  harm,1 
See  Diocletian  fail,  nor  have  it  said 
Great  Decius  and  Valerian  failed  before, 
Rise  to  the  common  weal,  and  so  bar  out 
Contagion  from  our  long  inviolate  air. 

Didymus.  I  feel  the  little  lovely  kiss  of  death 
Breathe  at  my  temples,  softer  than  a  bride. 

The  Prefect.  Octavius  Didymus,  bound  in  triple 

cords, 

Shall  be  at  sunrise,  on  the  appointed  plain, 
Beheaded.     Gracious  Caesar,  hail !  all  hail ! 

The  Crowd.  Hail,  Caesar ! 

Didymus.  These  have  made  me  Thine,  O  Christ ! 


22 

The  Prefect.   Reflect :    I   can    revoke,  I    would 

revoke. 
Name  but  thy  young  confederate's  hiding-place. 

Didymus.  I  know  not,  sir,  where  Theodora  is. 
She  passed  :  and  I  remain.  .  .  .  Demonic  laughter ! 
I  would  I  had  said  less  :  it  saddens  me. 
In  all  this  swarm,  there  figures  verily 
Not  one  that  will  believe ;  not  one  kind  soul 
But  is  so  sodden  with  the  slime  of  life, 
(Life  pagan,  and  without  our  Star,)  that  he 
Must  read  awry,  and  slander  my  fair  deed. 
Ah,   if   they   knew:    but  wherefore    should    they 

know  ? 

Lord,  fold  amid  the  leafage  of  my  heart 
Her  lilied  memory  !     I  will  strive  no  more  ; 
But  turn  to  Thee,  away  from  time  and  tears, 
A  melting  snowflake  in  Thy  mercy's  sea. 

The  Prefect.   Disperse. 

\_The  trumpets  sound. 

A  Voice.  Our  novel  damsel,  fallen  dumb, 

On  the  good  public  flint  shall  soon  strike  fire ; 
And  we  may  trap  that  masking  man-at-arms, 
Before  a  lizard  gets  his  inch  of  sun. 
Ho,  ho  !     Away  :  lead  on  ! 

The  Crowd.  Huzza  !  huzza  ! 


THE  MARTYRS'  IDYL  23 

V 

Dawn.      The  place  of  execution,  west  of  the  city,  look 
ing  seaward.     The  same  crowd,  leading  Didymus. 

A  Voice.    A  long   march  is  well   ended.     How 
fares  he  ? 

The  Bailiff.    He  thrives  ;  I  hear  him  murmuring 
idle  spells. 

Didymus.  Soft  is  the  twilight  breeze,  soaked  full 

of  sea. 

The  veiled  isle  yonder  rears  her  breathing  lamp ; 
And  under  us,  in  hollows  of  the  crags, 
Each  washing  wave  goes  like  a  gentle  gong. 
Across  the  hills,  there  brims  a  lucent  tide, 
Inaudible,  yet  lovelier;  living  gray 
Ridges  the  pulsing  east,  a  surf  of  light ; 
And  doubling  ever  on  itself,  a  glow 
Now  near,  now  far,  breaks  up  the  crested  sky, 
As  children,  pink  against  the  green  sea-garden, 
Play  in  the  earthly  waters,  unafraid, 
And  ruddier  than  all  roses,  race  ashore. 
So  come,  so  come,  gracile  and  glorious, 
O  rose  unborn,  my  Day  ! 

The  Bailiff.  We  '11  halt  awhile, 

And  shortly  see  our  way  to  honest  work.  .  .  . 
Listen  !     Do  others  follow  us,  or  no  ? 


24  THE  MARTYRS'  IDYL 

It  seemed  our  concourse  emptied  all  the  town. 
Who  stirs  through  this  dim  weather  ? 

A  slave  rushes  in. 

A  Slave.  Theodora  ! 

They  are  bringing  Theodora  here  to  die. 

The  Crowd.  Victory  ! 

Didymus.  Lord  my  God,  what  hast  Thou  wrought  ? 
I  tremble  with  the  sorrow  and  the  joy. 
The  shouts,  the  trampling  feet,  renew  for  me 
A  sacrifice  I  thought  to  make  no  more. 

The  Bailiff.  Drag  her  yet  nigher. 

The  Crowd.  She  is  welcome  ! 

A  Woman.  See  : 

Her  knees  are  white ;  the  gold  hair  brushes  them  ; 
The  glimmering  breastplate,  in  the  breaking  dark, 
Shows  comely. 

A  Voice.  Take  it  off! 

Theodora.  Not  so ;  not  yet. 

The  Bailiff.  Then  tell  thine  own  night's  tale : 
there's  privilege. 

Theodora.    A   simplest    tale.       When    dedicated 

hands 

Gave  me  this  dress,  lest  I  should  suffer  wrong, 
The  strong  disguise  bred  courage ;  but  I  went 
Only  a  mile :  the  armor  was  too  heavy. 
Where  blossomed  almonds  shade  the  roadside  well, 
Did  I  fall  down,  aswoon ;    I  think  I  swooned 
For  long ;  and  some  late  revelers,  passing  by, 


IDYL  25 

Found  me,  and  with  a  tumult  took  me  hither. 
Fulfill  your  will  in  pity ;  I  would  rest. 

The  Bailiff.  Half  of  the  warrant  drawn  for  Didy- 

mus, 
Is  yet  to  read :  thy  fate  and  his  are  one. 

Theodora.  On  Didymus  ?     Most  miserable  I, 
If  he  must  suffer,  being  kind  to  me  ! 
What  have  ye  done  with  Didymus  ? 

Didymus.  I  am  nigh. 

Voices.  Look  :    they  have  run  together  !  Miscre 
ants  ! 

Theodora.  O  strange  ordaining  !     Tell  me  :   by 

what  right 
Art  thou  encountered  on  the  fatal  ground  ? 

Didymus.  By  right  more  fair  than  thine,  because, 

forsooth, 

Not  punished  for  thy  planned  deliverance, 
But  rather  for  the  sacred  Name,  I  stand 
Thus  ready  to  the  headsman.      Aye  :  give  thanks ; 
Yet  thou,  too  rash,  hast  clouded  my  last  hour. 
Did  I  not  guard  thee  ?     Was  my  prayer  in  vain  ? 
For  into  horror's  mouth  thou  hast  returned. 

Theodora.  Nay  :  chide  not.     Test  their  changed 

intent,  and  mark 

That  in  it  lurks  for  me  no  word  but  cc  Death," 
No  word  at  all  but  dear  dispassionate  "  Death." 
Were  I,  still  helpless,  in  dread  peril  caught, 
To  thy  releasing  hand  I  still  had  cried, 


26  THE  MARTYRS'  IDYL 

Who  could  not  yield  mine  honor  up  ;  but  this, 
The  debt  of  life,  I  can  myself  discharge. 
And  if  I  die  not  so  for  Christ,  to-morrow 
Will  these  be  angered  less  with  me  ?  and  then 
For  taking  flight,  for  guiltiness  of  thy  guilt, 
My  helper,  shall  I  not  less  nobly  die  ? 
Was  it  from  martyrdom  erewhile  I  ran, 
Or  only  from  the  maw  of  wickedness  ? 
And  lightly  I  relinquished  unto  thee 
My  girlish  raiment,  not  my  soul  and  self: 
My  fond  profession  of  the  Christian  name. 
Would  he  deprive  me  now  of  my  last  due, 
Greatly  deceives  me  one  I  thought  my  friend ! 
What  will  become  of  me  if  thou  shouldst  go, 
Alone  ?  That  cruel  hour  would  strike  away 
My  second  sentence,  glad,  desirable, 
And  lower  me  to  the  insupportable  first. 
Leave  me  not  to  the  torment ;  rather  share 
The  blessedness  ;  be  jealous  even  for  me  ! 
Let  it  forevermore  of  thee  be  told 
How  from  the  thousand  hands  of  a  brute  foe 
Thou  savedst  once  the  spouse  of  Christ  for  Him. 
Ah,  Didymus,  Didymus  !  of  the  eternal  crown 
Rob  me  not  thou :  for  thine  to  thee  I  gave. 

Didymus.     Thy    sovereign    pinion     overmasters 

harm, 

Life,  Death,  and  me  :  and  if  I  feared,  I  erred. 
We  shall  not  be  divided :  and  therefore 


THE    MARTYRS      IDYL  1J 

Blessed  be  One  who  hath  despised  me  not, 
And,  of  His  clemency,  absolved  from  ill 
His  handmaid  Theodora. 

Theodora.  Blessed  He, 

Towards  only  children  twain,  most  merciful 
Both  in  the  olden  time,  and  unto  us, 
Who  so,  in  triumph,  wait  our  vigil's  close. 
O  Light  from  Heaven,  break,  break ! 

The  Bailiff.  Attend,  all  men  : 

Heed  how  to  deal  with  perished  Christian  swine, 
For  much  the  law  doth  vary,  touching  them. 
And  since,  too  oft,  their  kind  do  set  a  watch, 
And,  ere  the  wild  beasts  from  their  lairs  descend, 
Conceal  their  bodies  elsewhere,  't  is  decreed 
That  these  upon  the  bordering  desert  straight, 
Shall,  after  death,  be  burned. 

The  Crowd.  It  suits  us  well. 

Theodora.    Then  not  to  secret  chambers  of  the 

rock, 

Our  own,  with  hymnal  rite,  shall  lead  us  home  ; 
Not  to  our  natural  nest  beside  the  sea, 
Above  blown  Pharos  and  the  trader's  sail, 
Where,  day  and  night,  the  Eucharistic  Love 
Broods  over  us,  shall  thou  and  I  be  borne, 
And  laid  amid  our  fathers  in  the  Faith, 
Sleep  the  good  sleep  of  immortality. 
Not  one  small  tress  of  ours  shall  reverence  save  5 
No  fragment  of  our  interchanged  garb 


28  THE  MARTYRS'  IDYL 

Be  shrined  forever,  nor  ascetic  lips 
Embrace,  in  our  carved  names,  the  Crucified. 
God's  Will  be  done,  and  done  with  all  accord 
In  all  !    and  may  He  grant  that  unto  thee, 
(Who  art  both  more  and  less  than  neophyte,) 
Denial  of  that  quiet  sepulture 
Be  not  so  keen  a  pain.  —  His  look  's  afar: 
He  has  not  answered. 

Didymus.  .  .  .  Whole  on  every  side ! 

Whole,  boundless,  and  immingled :  not  a  chink 
In  tremulous  textures  of  this  bubbly  world, 
Where  spirits    might    slip    through.     O    spacious 

hour 

Of  ocean-distances,  air-altitudes, 
Pearl  cloudless  rounding  over  waveless  pearl : 
Pure  Mediterranean  !  bland  Africa  ! 
Ignoble  are  the  dreams  that  make  of  you 
Mere  ante-room  ;  and  ante-room  to  —  what  ? 
True  to  original  and  terminal  earth, 
Rather  may  royal  man,  ensphered  so  fair, 
His  chemic  end  not  thanklessly  salute, 
When  too  soon,  from  our  arc  of  known  content, 
We  blunder,  poor  blithe  faces,  to  the  Void. 
That  spark  once  fallen,  can  it  live  again  ? 
If  poets  weep,  if  just  Aurelius 
Evade,  if  wistful  Plato  pause  unsure, 
Ah,  who  art  Thou  that  biddest  me  believe  ? 
Theodora.    Encased  in  thy  so  serviceable  steel, 


29 

Against  my  bosom,  I  have  kept  for  thee 
An  aromatic  and  a  covered  cup. 
Come  hither :  drain  it.     Sudden  over  me, 
While  I  lay  stricken,  ere  my  captors  came, 
There  bent  the  childish  Shepherd  of  the  hills, 
Austerer  than  his  wont,  and  uttered  low : 
"  Wake,  Theodora  !   Bear  to  Didymus, 
Whom,  spent  in  final  battle,  thou  shalt  meet, 
A  little  draught  of  mingled  wine  and  dew, 
For  baptism,  and  viaticum." 

Didymus.  I  hear. 

A  stupor,  a  temptation,  clogged  my  brain : 
Gone  evermore.  —      What  hast  thou  been  to  me ! 
In  any  of  God's  halls  where  I  may  find  Him, 
I  seek  thee  also  there :  O  dove  !  thou  knowest 
Thy  hidden  heavenly  way  through  words  withheld. 
I  kneel,  but  cords  impede  my  hands.     Pour  thou, 
Till  I  have  slaked  a  supersensual  thirst, 
And,  faint  with  salutation,  drink  to  Him, 
Christ  Jesu,  whom  in  dying  I  adore. 

The  Bailiff.    Despatch  :  broad  daylight  comes. 

The  Headsman.  All  is  prepared. 

Theodora.    Amen :   and   Alleluia !    Heart    flown 

home, 
If  thou  wouldst  speak,  rise  up. 

Didymus.  Ye  worthy  men, 

I  would  not  stay  you  long.     Of  Didymus, 
Who  made  his  port  of  intellectual  storm 


30  THE  MARTYRS'  IDYL 

At  Alexandria,  tell  only  this : 
That  he  for  Christ  died  Christian,  with  clear  joy. 
And  when  his  comrades  from  their  outpost  ride, 
And,  reining  in  abreast,  ask  news  of  him, 
Lay  in  their  wondering  ears,  I  charge  you  all, 
That  word  miraculous,  that  happy  word. 

A  Voice.    I  ever  knew  it.     Devil !  Sorceress  ! 

The  Bailiff.    What  troubles  them  ? 

The  Crowd.  The  bowl  whereof  he  drank, 

Between  her  lifted  fingers  melts  away ! 
Their  magic  arts,  and  them,  destroy  ! 

The  Bailiff.  The  axe  : 

Smite  first  the  soldier. 

Didymus.  Theodora  saint, 

How  beautiful,  how  more  than  banner-bright, 
Streams  over  the  far  roofs  our  birthday  sun  ! 
Farewell,  and  follow  me.         [Didymus  is  executed. 

The  Crowd.  Blood  !  blood  !  The  other  ! 

Theodora.    Each  moment  of  mine  exile,  so  dis 
tinct, 

So  vast,  so  bitter,  and  so  ever-during, 
Burns   sweet   before   Our  Lord:   love's  last  slow 

grain 

Rich  as  the  first :  for  lo,  the  censer 's  broken ; 
And  all  my  soul  foreruns  her  call  to  climb 
Out  of  this  ruin.     Lest  I  slip,  or  cry, 
O  visible  form  of  light,  dear  Didymus ! 
Turn  now  :  give  me  thy  hand. 


SHORTER    POEMS 


THE  SQUALL 

HILE  all  was  glad, 
It  seemed  our  birch-tree  had, 
That    August     hour,    intelligence    of 

death; 

For  warningly  against  the  eaves  she  beat 
Her  body  old,  lamenting,  prophesying, 
And  the  hot  breath 
Of  startled  ferny  hollows  at  her  feet 
Spread  out :  a  toneless  sighing. 

Across  an  argent  sea, 

Distinct  unto  the  farthest  reef  and  isle, 

The  clouds  began  to  be. 

Huge  forms  'neath  sombre  draperies,  awhile 

Made  slow  uncertain  rally  ; 

But  as  their  wills  conjoined,  and  from  the  north 

The  leader  shook  his  lance,  O  then  how  fair 

Unvested,  they  stood  forth, 

In  diverse  armor,  plumed  majestically, 

Each  with  his  own  esquires,  a  King  in  air ! 

Up  moved  the  dark  vanguard, 

With  insolent  colors  that  o'erdusked  the  skies, 

33 


34  THESQJJALL 

And  trailed  from  beach  to  beach : 

Massed  orange  and  mould-green  ;  vermilion  barred 

On  bronze  and  mottled  silver;  saffron  dyes, 

And  purples  migratory, 

Fanned  each  in  each, 

As  the  long  column  broke,  athirst  for  glory. 

Sudden,  the  thunder ! 

Upon  the  roofed  verandas  how  it  rolled, 

Twice,  thrice  :    a  thud  and    flame  of  doom   that 

told 

New-fallen,  nor  far  away, 
Some  black  destruction  on  the  innocent  day. 
And  little  Everard 

Deep  in  the  hammock  under,  eyes  alight 
With  healthful  fear  and  wonder 
The  brave  do  ne'er  unlearn, 
Clenched  his  soft  hand,  and  breathing  hard, 
Smiled  there  against  his  father,  like  a  knight 
Baptized  on  Cressy  field,  or  Bannockburn. 

A  moment  gone, 

Into  our  Thessaly,  from  Acheron, 

With  imperceptive  sorcery,  crawled  ashore 

Odors  unnamable  :  an  exhalation 

Of  men  and  ships  in  oozy  graves.     (Ah,  cease, 

Derisive  nereids  !   cease  : 

Be  it  enough,  that  even  ye  can  pour, 


THE    SQJJALL  35 

From  crystal  flagons  of  your  ancient  peace, 

So  strange  obscene  libation.) 

But  with  the  thunder-peal 

Sprang  the  pure  winds,  their  thuribles  swung  wide, 

To  chase  that  tainted  tide  ; 

Fresh  from  the  pastures  and  the  cedar-grove, 

They  rode  the  ridged  Atlantic's  copper  plain, 

And  rent  a  league  of  distance  to  reveal 

A  sail,  aslant,  astrain, 

Impetuous  for  the  cove ; 

And  tossing  after,  panic-stricken, 

Another,  and  a  third  :  white  spirits,  fain  to  sicken. 

Nor  out  of  natural  harm  salvation  gain. 

The  selfsame  hunter  winds  that  drave 

The  horror  down,  as  faithful-hearted  drew 

The  sad  clouds  from  their  carnage,  and  up-piled 

Their  rebel  gonfalons,  or  jocund  threw 

Their  cannon  in  the  wave ; 

And  subtly,  with  a  parting  whisper,  gave 

An  eve  most  mild : 

A  sunset  like  a  prayer,  a  world  all  rose  and  blue. 

A  good  world,  as  it  was, 

And  as  it  shall  be  :  clear  circumferent  space, 

Where  punctual  yet,  for  worship  of  their  Cause, 

The  stars  came  thick  in  choir. 

Sleep  had  our  Everard  in  her  cool  embrace, 


36  THE    SQJJALL 

Else  from  his  cot  he  hardly  need  have  stooped 
To  see,  (and  laugh  to  see  !)  the  headland  pine 
Embossed  on  changing  fire  : 
For  close  behind  it,  cooped 
Within  a  smallest  span, 
In  fury,  up  and  down,  and  round  and  round, 
The  routed  leopards  of  the  lightning  ran  : 
Bright,  bright,  inside  their  dungeon-bars,  malign 
They  ran  5  and  ran  till  dawn,  without  a  sound. 


MEMORIAL  DAY 

DAY  of  roses  and  regret, 
Kissing  the  old  graves  of  our  own  ! 
Not  to  the  slain  love's  lovely  debt 
Alone; 


But  jealous  hearts  that  live  and  ache 
Remember,  and  while  drums  are  mute, 
Beneath  your  banners'  bright  outbreak. 
Salute : 

And  say  for  us  to  lessening  ranks 

That  keep  the  memory  and  the  pride, 

On  whose  thinned  hair  our  tears  and  thanks 

Abide, 

Who  from  their  saved  Republic  pass, 
Glad  with  the  Prince  of  Peace  to  dwell : 
Hail)  dearest  few  /  and  soon,  alas^ 
Farewell. 

37 


ROMANS  IN  DORSET 

TO    A.    B. 


UPOR  was  on  the  heath, 
And  wrath  along  the  sky ; 
Space  everywhere ;  beneath 
A  flat  and  treeless  wold   for  us,  and 
darkest  noon  on  high. 


Sullen  quiet  below, 
But  storm  in  upper  air  ! 
A  wind  from  long  ago, 

In  mouldy  chambers  of  the  cloud,  had  ripped  an 
arras  there, 

And  singed  the  triple  gloom, 
And  let  through,  in  a  flame, 
Crowned  faces  of  old  Rome  : 
Regnant   o'er  Rome's  abandoned  ground,  proces 
sional  they  came. 

Uprisen  as  any  sun 
Through  vistas  hollow  grey, 
Aloft,  and  one  by  one, 

In  brazen  casques  the  Emperors  loomed  large,  and 
sank  away. 

38 


ROMANS    IN    DORSET  39 

In  ovals  of  wan  light 
Each  warrior  eye  and  mouth : 
A  pageant  brutal  bright 

As  if,  once  over,  loudly  passed  Jove's  laughter  in 
the  south ; 

And  dimmer,  these  among, 
Some  cameo'd  head  aloof, 
With  ringlets  heavy-hung, 

Like   yellow    stonecrop    comely  grown    around  a 
castle  roof. 

An  instant :  gusts  again, 
And  heaven's  impacted  wall, 
The  hot  insistent  rain, 

The  thunder-shock;  and  of  the  Past    mirage    no 
more  at  all. 

No  more  the  alien  dream 
Pursuing,  as  we  went, 
With  glory's  cursed  gleam  : 

Nor  sins  of  Caesar's  ruined  line  engulfed  us,  inno 
cent. 

The  vision  great  and  dread 
Corroded ;  sole  in  view 
Was  empty  Egdon  spread, 

Her   crimson    summer  weeds  ashake  in  tempest: 
but  we  knew 


4°  ROMANS   IN    DORSET 

What  Tacitus  had  borne 
In  that  wrecked  world  we  saw ; 
And  what  thine  heart  uptorn, 
My  Juvenal !  distraught  with  love  of  violated  Law. 


VALSE   JEUNE 

RE  there  favoring  ladies  above  thee  ? 
Are  there  dowries  and  lands  ?     Do 

they  say 

Seven   others   are    fair  ?     But   I   love 
thee : 
Aultre  riauray  / 


All  the  sea  is  a  lawn  in  our  county ; 
All  the  morrow,  our  star  of  delay. 
I  am  King  :  let  me  live  on  thy  bounty  ! 
Aultre  rfauray  ! 

To  the  fingers  so  light  and  so  rosy 

That  have  pinioned  my  heart,  (welladay !) 
Be  a  kiss,  be  a  ring  with  this  posy : 
Aultre  rfauray  ! 
41 


.THE   CHANTRY 

LOYAL   lady  young;   a  knight  for 

honor  slain : 

All  beauty  and  all  quiet  sealed  for  aye 
•     upon 

Their  images  that  lie  in  coif  and  morion. 
A  moment  since,  through  rifts  and  pauses  of  the 

rain, 
The  day  shot   in;  the    lancet    window    showered 

again 
Its   moth-like  play  of  silver,  rose,  and  sapphire; 

shone 

What  arms  of  warring  duchies  glorious,  bygone  : 
Lombardy,  Desmond,  Malta,  suitored  Aquitaine  ! 
The  while  aloft  in  Art's  immortal  summer-tide, 
Fair  is  the  carven  hostel,  fortunate  either  guest, 
And  men  of  moodier  England  pass,  and  hear  outside 
Fury  of  toil  alone,  and  fate's  diurnal  storm, 
Hearts  with  the  King  of  Saints,  hearts  beating  light 

and  warm  ! 

To  these  your  courage  give,  that  these  attain  your 
rest. 

4* 


MONOCHROME 

HUT  fast  again  in  Beauty's  sheath 

Where  ancient  forms  renew, 
The  round  world  seems  above,  beneath, 
One  wash  of  faintest  blue, 


And  air  and  tide  so  stilly  sweet 

In  nameless  union  lie, 
The  little  far-off  fishing  fleet 

Goes  drifting  up  the  sky. 

Secure  of  neither  misted  coast 

Nor  ocean  undefined, 
Our  saddening  sail  is  like  the  ghost 

Of  one  that  served  mankind, 

Who  in  the  void,  as  we  upon 

This  melancholy  sea, 
Finds  labor  and  allegiance  done, 

And  Self  begin  to  be. 
43 


THE  VIGIL   IN   TYRONE 

TO    G.    S. 


ELL  it  over  !  "     Thus,  in  twilight,  the 

old  gamekeeper  of  gentle  blood, 
To  the  grandchild  teasing,  teasing,  and 
pink  as  the  bedtime  daisy-bud, 


Tells  it  over.  —  "  When  that  happened,  I  was  a  boy, 

and  I  'sat  one  day 
By  the  river,  in  mid-morning,  my  drowsy  cheek  to 

the  pleasant  clay. 

"  Sudden  opened,  near  and  under,  the  believed-in 

cave  on  the  green  hillside ! 
Thick  the   darkness,   but  I  saw  them :    the  Earl 

Hugh's  men  that  never  have  died, 

"  Men  gone  by,  ensainted,  fabled,  the  men  unnamed 

in  the  living  air : 
Like  a  taper's   flame   among  them,  my   soul   and 

body  were  shaken  there. 
44 


THE    VIGIL    IN    TYRONE  45 

"  Nine  full  hundred,  nine  and  ninety,  (O'Neil  the 
thousandth  when  he  comes  back !) 

All  a-row,  asleep  in  armor,  by  horses  magical  white 
or  black : 

"  Mighty  horses  satin-shouldered,  with  sheen  of  the 

golden  stirrups  grand ; 
Mighty  troopers  drunk  with  battle,  the  bridle  in 

every  iron  hand. 

"  Sunburn  on  their  folded  faces  was  fresh  as  child 
hood  and  fierce  as  death. 

Think :  the  sunburn  got  in  marches  against  the 
demon  Elizabeth ! 

"  Next  my  knee,  then,  rose  a  hero,  rose  up  a  little, 

not  loosening  rein ; 
Gazing  steady,  softly  said  he,  and  sharply  said  to 

me,  over  again : 

"c/jr  the  time  come?  '  (That's  for  vengeance  :  the 
clan  is  hungry  and  hot  to  start.) 

'  Is  the  time  come,  is  the  time  come  ?  '  Thrice  the 
sound  of  it  stabbed  my  heart. 

"  Page  or  herald  if  he  thought  me,  the  hope  that 

changed  like  a  rushing  sea, 
Failed  and  ebbed,  and   straight   outbore  him,  and 

took  the  terror  away  from  me  ; 


46  THE    VIGIL    IN    TYRONE 

"  Sands  of  sleep  dragged  down  his  eyelid,  and  slacked 

his  hand  on  the  charger  good, 
Surely,    heavily,    surely,    slowly.  —  I    ran    till    I 

reached  our  roof  in  the  wood. 

u  Long  ago.     This  thing  the  fathers  had  whispered 

of,  I  beheld  and  heard  ! 
Though  not  yet  my  splendid  dreamer  the  answer 

win  to  his  uttered  word, 

"  Patience :  that  shall  be,  hereafter.     The  chief  is 

late,  but  he  seeks  his  own, 
Riding  up  to  break  the  quiet  in  all  the  farm-lands 

of  all  Tyrone. 

"  They  have  hid  so,  they  have  waited ;  to  hate  that 

smoulders  their  blood  is  leal. 
O  to  help  them  crash  around  him  true  Innishowen's 

unrusted  steel ! 

«  O  to  help  them  cheer  and  follow  O'Neil,  O'Neil 

from  his  foreign  grave  ! 
O  to  throne  thee,   saddest,   fairest,  as  once  thou 

wert,  on  the  warless  wave ! 

u  Drift  of  moss  for  many  a  summer  conceals  the 

door  on  the  charmed  hillside ; 
Clouds  and  hail  of  death  blow  over  the  Earl  Hugh's 

men  that  never  have  died. 


THE    VIGIL   IN    TYRONE  47 

"  Nine  full  hundred,  nine  and  ninety,  (O'Neil  the 
thousandth  when  he  comes  back !) 

Lie  a-row,  asleep  in  armor,  by  horses  magical  white 
or  black : 

"  Mighty  horses  satin-shouldered,  with  sheen  of  the 

golden  stirrups  grand ; 
Mighty  troopers  ripe  for  battle,  the  bridle  in  every 

ready  hand. 

"  '  Is  the  time  come  ?  '  (Long  the  sorrow,  little  isle, 
my  love,  for  your  sake,  your  sake.) 

4  Is  the  time  come  ?  Is  the  time  come  ?  '  Ah,  hush, 
no  more :  or  my  heart  will  break." 

Pretty  Kathie,  closer  pressing,  into   that   face   in 

silence  peers  : 
There  they  fall,  the  sunset  showers,  the  far-off, 

idle,  eternal  tears. 


"BECAUSE   NO   MAN   HATH    HIRED 
US" 

S.  MATT.  xx.  7. 


I  ILL  I,  that  am  a  soldier  born,  can  find 
Some  war  so  worthy,  I  may  pledge  it 

straight 
Unto   my  dear  and  virgin  sword  for 

mate, 

Who  now  lies  cloistered  in  her  sheath  behind, 
Must  I  ride  thus  in  vain ;   and  on  my  mind 
The  torment  and  the  thirst  of  glory  wait, 
And  never  cause  with  zeal  inviolate 
Be  strong  enough  my  haughty  youth  to  bind. 
Ah,  readier  men-at-arms  !    beneath  the  trees 
Where  shepherd-meek,  I  bear  mine  altered  part, 
And  watch  the  charge  far  off,  and  think  with  awe: 
/  have  seen  higher,  holier  things  than  these, 
And  therefore  must  to  these  refuse  my  heart^  — 
That  heavenly  pride  forbids  my  hand  to  draw. 

II 

Though  all  your  flags  sweep  stormily  in  air, 
And  thousand  hoofs  are  whirling  fiery  seed, 

1  T&  Ka\6v :  Arthur  Hugh  dough. 
48 


"BECAUSE    NO    MAN    HATH    HIRED    US"    49 

The  quiet  forest  hides  my  folly,  freed 

From  good  in  reach,  nor  leagued  to  aught   more 

fair. 

This  is  my  camp  of  tears,  and  doubt,  and  care, 
Where  I  who  long  to  fight  may  soothe  my  greed, 
Full  of  sad  liberty  ;  and  if  indeed 
The  One  I  lack  came  hither  unaware,  — 
If  sudden  stood  beside  the  saddle-bow 
The  Outcast  of  all  time  and  every  land, 
With  head  drooped  like  the  lily's  parching  cup, 
I  dare  to  dream  that  I  my  King  should  know, 
And  lean  to  kiss,  within  that  wounded  Hand, 
My  only  use,  my  honors,  folded  up. 


AN   OUTDOOR   LITANY 

HE  spur  is  red  upon  the  briar, 
The  sea-kelp  whips  the  wave  ashore; 
The  wind  shakes  out  the  colored  fire 
From  lamps  a-row  on  the  sycamore; 

The  tanager,  with  flitting  note, 

Shows  to  wild  heaven  his  wedding-coat ; 

The  mink  is  busy ;  herds  again 

Go  hillward  in  the  honeyed  rain ; 

The  midges  meet.-    I  cry  to  Thee 

Whose  heart 

Remembers  each  of  these  :    Thou  art 

My  God  who  hast  forgotten  me. 

Bright  from  the  mast,  a  scarf  unwound, 
The  lined  gulls  in  the  offing  ride ; 
Along  an  edge  of  marshy  ground 
The  shad-bush  enters  like  a  bride. 
Yon  little  clouds  are  washed  of  care 
That  climb  the  blue  New  England  air, 
And  almost  merrily  withal 
The  tree-frog  plays  at  evenfall 
His  oboe  in  a  mossy  tree. 
So  too, 

5° 


AN    OUTDOOR    LITANY  51 

Am  I  not  Thine?     Arise,  undo 
This  fear  Thou  hast  forgotten  me. 

Happy  the  vernal  rout  that  come 

To  their  due  offices  to-day, 

And  strange,  if  in  Thy  mercy's  sum, 

Excluded  man  alone  decay. 

I  ask  no  triumph,  ask  no  joy, 

Save  leave  to  live,  in  law's  employ. 

As  to  a  weed,  to  me  but  give 

Thy  sap  !   lest  aye  inoperative 

Here  in  the  Pit  my  strength  shall  be : 

And  still 

Help  me  endure  the  Pit,  until 

Thou  wilt  not  have  forgotten  me. 


VIRGO   GLORIOSA,   MATER   AMAN- 
TISSIMA 

JINES  branching  stilly 
Shade  the  open  door, 
In  the  house  of  Zion's  Lily, 
Cleanly  and  poor. 
O  brighter  than  wild  laurel 
The  Babe  bounds  in  her  hand, 
The  King,  who  for  apparel 
Hath  but  a  swaddling-band, 

And  sees  her  heavenlier  smiling  than  stars  in  His 
command  ! 

Soon,  mystic  changes 
Part  Him  from  her  breast, 
Yet  there  awhile  He  ranges 
Gardens  of  rest : 
Yea,  she  the  first  to  ponder 
Our  ransom  and  recall, 
Awhile  may  rock  Him  under 
Her  young  curls'  fall, 
Against  that  only  sinless  love-loyal  heart  of  all. 

What  shall  inure  Him 
Unto  the  deadly  dream, 
5* 


VIRGO    GLORIOSA  53 

When  the  tetrarch  shall  abjure  Him, 
The  thief  blaspheme, 
And  scribe  and  soldier  jostle 
About  the  shameful  Tree, 
And  even  an  Apostle 
Demand  to  touch  and  see  ?  — 
But  she  hath  kissed  her  Flower  where  the  Wounds 
are  to  be. 


FOUR  COLLOQUIES 

TO  H.  P.  K. 
I.     THE    SEARCH 

HY  dost  thou  hide  from  these 
Out  along  the  hills  halloaing  ? 
Why  hast  forbade 
Thy  face,  O  goddess  !  to  thy  votaries  ? " 


"  Unasking  and  unknowing 
Is  be  whom  I  make  glad^ 
Like  Dian  grandly  going 
To  the  sleeping  shepherd-lad. 
Men  that  pursue  learn  not 
To  follow  Is  my  lot." 

"  Happiness,  secret  one, 
Heartbeat  of  the  April  weather, 
Where  art  thou  found  ? 
Tell ;  lest  I  err  too,  yonder  in  the  sun.' 

"  Call  in  thine  eye  from  ether  ^ 
Thy  feet  from  far  ground ; 
Seek  Honor  in  this  heather^ 
54 


FOUR    COLLOQJJIES  55 

With  austere  purples  wound. 
Serve  her :  she  will  reveal 
Me,  hound-like,  at  thy  heel'9 

II.     FACT    AND    THE    MYSTIC 

"  Good-morrow,  Symbol."  —  "  Call  me  not 
The  name  I  neither  love  nor  merit" 

—  "  That  grave  eternal  name  inherit, 
Thine  ever,  though  all  men  forgot." 

"  Mistake  me  not ;  secure  and  free, 

From  rock  to  rock  my  falchion  passes  : 
But  Symbols  trail  through  gray  morasses 
The  tattered  shows  of  faery." 

"  My  Symbol  thou,  of  phantom  blood, 

With  starlight  from  thy  temples  raying ; 
Along  thy  floated  body  playing 
Are  withering  wings,  and  wings  in  bud." 

"  Alas,  thine  eye  with  clay  is  sealed" 

—  "  Symbol,  before  the  clay's  denial, 
While  yet  I  had  a  god's  espial, 

I  saw  thee  in  a  solar  field  !  " 

"  Nay :  I  am  Fact."  —  "  Then  lose  thy  praise ; 
And  lest  to-day  no  song  behoove  thee, 
Lest  mine  impeach  thee,  or  reprove  thee, 
Ah,  Symbol,  Symbol  !  go  thy  ways." 


$6  FOURCOLLOQJJIES 

III.     THE    POET'S    CHART 

"  Where  shall  I  find  my  light  ? " 

"  Turn  from  another's  track: 
Whether  for  gain  or  lack, 
Love  but  thy  natal  right. 
Cease  to  follow  withal, 
Though  on  thine  up-led  feet 
Flakes  of  the  phosphor  fall. 
Oracles  overheard 
Are  never  again  for  thee, 
Nor  at  a  magiarfs  knee 
Under  the  hemlock  tree, 
Burns  the  illumining  word." 

"  Whence  shall  I  take  my  law  ?  " 

"  Neither  from  sires  nor  sons, 
Nor  the  delivered  ones, 
Holy,  invoked  with  awe. 
Rather,  dredge  the  divine 
Out  of  thine  own  poor  dust, 
Feebly  to  speak  and  shine. 
Schools  shall  be  as  they  are  : 
Be  thou  truer,  and  stray 
Alone,  intent,  and  away, 
In  a  savage  wild  to  obey 
A  dim  primordial  star." 


FOURCOLLOQJJIES  $J 

IV.     OF    THE    GOLDEN    AGE 

"  Recall  for  me,  recall 
The  time  more  true  and  ample ; 
The  world  whereon  I  trample, 
How  tortuous  and  small  ! 
Behold,  I  tire  of  all. 

Once,  gods  in  jeweled  mail 
Through  greenwood  ways  invited ; 
There  now  the  moon  is  blighted, 
And  mosses  long  and  pale 
On  lifeless  cedars  trail." 

"  Child,  keep  this  good  unrest  : 
But  give  to  thine  own  story 
Simplicity  with  glory  ; 
To  greatness  dispossessed, 
Dominion  of  thy  breast. 

In  abstinence,  in  pride, 
Thou,  who  from  Folly1  s  boldest 
Thy  sacred  eye  withholdest, 
Another  morn  shalt  ride 
At  Agamemnon's  side." 


SANCTUARY 

UGH  above  hate  I  dwell : 
O  storms  !  farewell. 
Though    at    my    sill    your    daggered 

thunders  play, 
Lawless  and  loud  to-morrow  as  to-day, 
To  me  they  sound  more  small 
Than  a  young  fay's  footfall  : 
Soft  and  far-sunken,  forty  fathoms  low 
In  Long  Ago, 

And  winnowed  into  silence  on  that  wind 
Which  takes  wars  like  a  dust,  and  leaves  but  love 
behind. 

Hither  Felicity 
Doth  climb  to  me, 

And  bank  me  in  with  turf  and  marjoram 
Such  as  bees  lip,  or  the  new-weaned  lamb ; 
With  golden  barberry-wreath, 
And  bluets  thick  beneath ; 
One  grosbeak,  too,  mid  apple-buds  a  guest 
With  bud-red  breast, 

Is  singing,  singing!     All  the  hells  that  rage 
Float  less  than  April  fog  below  our  hermitage. 
58 


ORISONS 

[RANGE  and  olive  and  glossed  bay-tree, 
And  air  of  the  evening  out  at  sea, 
And  out  at  sea,  on    the    steep  warm 

stone, 
A  little  bare  diver  poising  alone. 

Flushed  from  the  cool  of  Sicilian  waves, 
Flushed  as  the  coral  in  clean  sea-caves, 
"  I  am  !  "  he  cries  to  his  glorying  heart, 
And  unto  he  knows  not  what :  "THOU  art !  " 

He  leaps,  he  shines,  he  sinks,  he  is  gone : 
He  will  climb  to  the  golden  ledge  anon. 
Perfecter  rite  can  none  employ, 
When  the  god  of  the  isle  is  good  to  a  boy. 
59 


THE   INNER   FATE:    A   CHORUS 

T  weak  with  eld 

The  stars  beheld 

Proud  Persia  coming  to  her  doom  ; 

Not  battle-broke,  nor  tempest-tossed, 
The  long  luxurious  galleys  lost 
Their  souls  at  Actium. 


Not  outer  arts 

Of  hostile  hearts 

Persuaded  him  of  France  to  be 

The  wreckage  of  his  wars  at  last, 

The  orphan  of  the  kingdoms,  cast 

Upon  the  mothering  sea. 

Man  evermore  doth  work  his  will, 
And  evermore  the  gods  are  still, 
Applauding  him  alone  who  stands 
Too  just  for  heaven-accusing  groans, 
And  in  his  house  of  havoc  owns 
The  doing  of  his  hands  ; 
Transgressor,  yet  divinely  taught 
To  suffer  all,  blaspheming  naught, 
60 


THE    INNER    FATE:     A    CHORUS  6l 

When  fair-begun  must  foul  conclude  : 
Himself  progenitor  of  death, 
Who  breeds,  within,  the  only  breath 
Can  kill  beatitude. 


OF   JOAN'S   YOUTH 

WOULD  unto  my  fair  restore 

A  simple  thing  : 

The  flushing  cheek  she  had  before  ! 

Out-velveting 
No  more,  no  more 
By  Severn  shore, 
The  carmine  grape,  the  moth's  auroral  wing. 

Ah,  say  how  winds  in  flooding  grass 
Unmoor  the  rose  ; 
Or  guileful  ways  the  salmon  pass 
To  sea,  disclose ; 
For  so,  alas, 
With  Love,  alas, 

With  fatal,  fatal  Love  a  girlhood  goes. 
62 


BY  THE  TRUNDLE-BED 

TO    M.    M.    R. 

love,  be    never   beyond    Love's 
calling ! 
For  this  I  claim  of  you,  strong  heart, 

sweet 

As  fontal  water  in  Arden  falling, 
As  first-mown  hay  in  the  April  heat : 

To  tend  from  heaven,  to  rear,  to  harden, 
And  bring  to  bloom  in  the  outer  cold, 
Our  daffodil  bud  of  a  walled-in  garden, 
Our  son  that  is  like  you,  and  six  years  old ; 

And  lest  his  worth  be  the  worth  unreal, 
To  ward  him  not  from  the  mortal  blast, 
But  suffer  your  own,  through  a  long  ordeal, 
Verily  like  you  to  be  at  the  last, 

And  hear  men  murmur,  if  so  he  merit 
In  your  old  place  with  your  look  to  arise  : 
"  The  sign  of  a  saved  soul  who  can  inherit  ?  — 
You  have  earned,  O  King !  those  beautiful  eyes." 
63 


THE   ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

JINCE  first  I  knew  it  our  divine  employ 
To  beat  beyond  the  reach  of  soiling 

care, 

As  at  Philippi,  well  of  doom  aware, 
The  Praetor  called  and  heard  the  singing  boy ; 
Since  first  my  soul  so  jealous  was  of  joy, 
That  any  facile  linden-bloom  in  air, 
Or  fall  of  water  on  a  wildwood  stair, 
Annulled  for  her  all  dragging  dull  annoy ; 
Though  word  of  thanks  I  lacked,  though,  dumb,  I 

smiled 

Long,  long,  at  such  august  amends  up-piled, 
Let  this  the  debt  redeem  :  that  when  Ye  drop 
Death's  aloe-leaf  within  my  honeyed  cup, 
On  thoughtful  knee  your  much-beholden  child, 
Immortals  !  unto  You  will  drink  it  up. 
64 


ARBORICIDE 

WORD  of  grief  to  me  erewhile  : 
We  have  cut  the  oak  down,  in  our  isle. 

And  I  said  :  "  Ye  have  bereaven 
The  song-thrush  and  the  bee, 
And  the  fisher-boy  at  sea 
Of  his  sea-mark  in  the  even  ; 
And  gourds  of  cooling  shade,  to  lie 
Within  the  sickle's  sound; 
And  the  old  sheep-dog's  loyal  eye 
Of  sleep  on  duty's  ground  ; 
And  poets  of  their  tent 
And  quiet  tenement.  * 
Ah,  impious  !  who  so  .paid 
Such  fatherhood,  and  made 
Of  murmurous  immortality  a  cargo  and  a  trade." 

For  the  hewn  oak  a  century  fair, 
A  wound  in  earth,  an  ache  in  air. 

And  I  said  :  u  No  pillared  height 
With  a  summer  dai's  over, 
Where  a  dryad  fled  her  lover 
65 


66  ARBORICIDE 

Through  the  long  arcade  of  light ; 
Nor  'neath  Arcturus  rolleth  more, 
Since  the  loud  leaves  are  gone, 
Between  the  shorn  cliff  and  the  shore, 
Pan's  organ  antiphon. 
Some  nameless  envy  fed 
This  blow  at  grandeur's  head  : 
Some  breathed  reproach  o'erdue, 
Degenerate  men,  ye  drew  ! 

Then,  for  his  too  plain  heavenliness,  our  Socrates 
ye  slew." 


CHARISTA   MUSING 

[OVELESS,  on  the  marge  of  a  sunny 

cornfield, 
Rapt    in    sudden    revery    while    thou 

standest, 

Like  the  sheaves,  in  beautiful  Doric  yellow 
Clad  to  the  ankle, 

« 

Oft  to  thee  with  delicate  hasty  footstep 
So  I  steal,  and  suffer  because  I  find  thee 
Inly  flown,  and  only  a  fallen  feather 
Left  of  my  darling. 

Give  me  back  thy  wakening  breath,  thy  ringlets 
Fragrant  as  the  vine  of  the  bean  in  blossom, 
And  those  eyes  of  violet  dusk  and  daylight 
Under  sea-water, 

Eyes  too  far  away,  and  too  full  of  longing  ! 
Yes :  and  go  not  heavenward  where  I  lose  thee, 
Go  not,  go  not  whither  I  cannot  follow, 

Being  but  earthly. 

67 


68  CHARISTA    MUSING 

Willing  swallow  poised  upon  my  finger, 
Little  wild-wing  ever  from  me  escaping, 
For  the  care  thou  art  to  me,  I  thy  lover 
Love  thee,  and  fear  thee. 


THE   PERFECT   HOUR 


it  on  my  blazon  shown 
How  I  fought  the  fiends  alone, 
Ere  I  rose  to  this  content, 
Open,  true,  magnificent. 


My  heart  from  the  underworld 
Rides  the  bright  sea-foam  upcurled ; 
My  heart  suns  in  air  between 
Medlar-pear  and  nectarine  ; 

Terrors  run  to  me  at  dawn 
Tamer  than  the  velvet  fawn ; 
Not  to  me  hath  Love  denied 
His  great  star  of  eventide. 

Fate,  where  is  thy  splintered  spear 
Met  me  in  the  tourney  year  ? 
Once  thou  wert  in  overthrow, 
Then  I  laughed,  and  let  thee  go. 

Wouldst  thou  yet  make  sport  of  me, 
Find  me  kingly,  fervent,  free  ! 
Though  there  come  the  foreordained, 
In  thy  city  have  I  not  reigned  ? 
69 


DEO  OPTIMO  MAXIMO 


LL  else  for  use,  one  only  for  desire ; 
Thanksgiving  for  the  good,  but  thirst 

for  Thee : 
Up  from  the  best,  whereof  no  man  need 

tire, 
Impel  thou  me. 


Delight  is  menace,  if  Thou  brood  not  by, 
Power  a  quicksand,  Fame  a  gathering  jeer. 
Oft  as  the  morn,  (though  none  of  earth  deny 
These  three  are  dear,) 

Wash  me  of  them,  that  I  may  be  renewed, 
Nor  wall  in  clay  mine  agonies  and  joys : 
O  close  my  hand  upon  Beatitude  ! 
Not  on  her  toys. 

70 


IN  TIME  OF  TROUBLE 

RELIEVE    the   word   our   gentle  augur 

spake  : 

Sweet  are  the  uses  of  adversity , 
Sweet  ever ;  and  in  naught  so  sweet  as 

this: 

That  though  the  heavens  be  barred,  if  we  but  hold 
An  equal,  quiet,  will-illumined  mind, 
Such  greatness  in  us,  laborless,  must  win 
Great  answers  :  cheer  from  all  created  things, 
And  interchange  of  love  by  natural  right 
With  the  high  few,  a  kinship  not  of  clay. 
Be  these  thy  present  comfort  !     Like  a  man 
Who  tends  a  watchlight  on  the  hills  alone 
At  Childermas,  (and  through  a  night  so  cold, 
The  red  clots  of  the  rowan-berry  twirl 
Incorporate  with  a  small  stiff  cone  of  ice, 
And  the  wind  breaks  his  flail,  and  swineherds  hear 
Outside,    the    pine-boles    crack    with    frost    i'  the 

heart,) 

Thou  shalt,  ere  long,  upon  a  distant  peak 
Descry  a  doubted  smoke,  a  likelier  spark, 
A  shadow  shot  across  a  glare,  and  then 
Two  spurts  of  flame  that  bare  the  under  sea ; 
71 


72  IN    TIME    OF    TROUBLE 

And  climb,  by  much  and  more  of  certitude, 
To  praising  God  some  other  even  as  thou 
Beneath  his  natal  star  himself  maintains, 
And  in  salute  of  souls  coordinate, 
There,  till  he  perish,  guards  his  lineal  fire. 


AN   ESTRAY 

ELL  we  know,  not  ever  here  is  a  foot 
ing  for  thy  dream  : 

Thou  art  sick  for  horse  and  spear  be 
side  an  Asian  stream, 


For  the  hearth-smoke  in  the  wild,   for  the  goat 
herd's  stave, 
For  a  beauty  far  exiled,  a  belief  within  its  grave. 

While  another  sky  and  ground  orb  thy  strange  re 
membering, 

And  no  world  of  mortal  bound  is  the  master  of  thy 
wing, 

Canst  thou  yet  thy  fate  forgive,  that  the  godhead  in 

thy  breast 
Has  this  life  at  least  to  live  as  a  force  in  rhythmic 

rest, 

As  a  seed  that  bides  the  hour  of  obscureness  and 

decay, 
Being   troth    of  flower   to  flower  down  the  long 

dynastic  day  ? 

73 


74  ANESTRAY 

Child  whom  elder  airs  enfold,  who  hast  greatness 

to  maintain 
Where  heroic    hap    of  old  may  return  and  shine 

again, 

As    too  oft  across  thy  heart  flits  the  too  familiar 

light, 
How  alarms  of  love  upstart  at  the  token  quick  and 

slight ! 

Lest  captivity  be  o'er,  lest  thou  glide  away,  and  so 
From  our  tents  of  Nevermore  strike  the  trail  of 
Long  Ago. 


BORDERLANDS 

[HROUGH  all  the  evening, 
All  the  virginal  long  evening, 
Down  the  blossomed  aisle  of  April  it 

is  dread  to  walk  alone ; 
For  there  the  intangible  is  nigh,  the  ]ost  is  ever- 

during ; 
And  who  would  suffer  again  beneath  a  too  divine 

alluring, 

Keen  as  the  ancient  drift  of  sleep  on  dying  faces 
blown  ? 

Y,et;  in/the  valley ,y 

At  a  turn  qf  the  orchard  alley, 

When  a  wild  aroma  touched  me  in  the  moist  and 
moveless  air, 

Like  breath  indeed  from  out  Thee,  or  as  airy  ves 
ture  round  Thee, 

Then  was  it  I  went  faintly,  for  fear  I  had  nearly 
found  Thee, 

O  hidden,  O  perfect,  O  desired!  the  first  and  the      _^ 
final  Fair. 

75 


TO  THE  OUTBOUND  REPUBLIC 
MDCCCXCVIII 

MERICA,  bride  of  Change  ! 
Thy  cloistral  hour  is  done  ; 
Thy  shy  and  innocent  foot 
Is  white  on  the  stranger's  stair : 

Unto  what  end  ?  —  Beloved  ! 

I  have  heard  thee  sigh. 

As  the  heliotrope  in  the  dusk 
Close  under,  but  unespied, 
Delivers  one  slow  breath, 
Pained,  poignant-sweet, 
Into  the  neutral  air, 
Because  she  inly  feels 
At  some  light  shock  of  a  bud 
That  would  issue  forth,  and  expand, 
How  coronals  fall,  and  old 
Dear  purples  wither  away ; 
(While  the  friendly  leaves  overhead 
Moan,  and  the  redwing  there 
Aches  in  his  delicate  sleep ;) 
Even  so, 

Freedom's  exempted  flower  ! 
In  the  rhythm,  the  interplay 
76 


TO    THE    OUTBOUND    REPUBLIC  JJ 

Of  the  terrors  of  budding  life 

Or  death, 

I  have  heard  thee  sigh. 

As  the  clear  mid-channel  wave, 

"That  under  a  Lammas  dawn 

Her  orient  lanthorn  held 

Steady  and  beautiful, 

Through  the  trance  of  the  sunken  tide, 

Sudden  leaps  up,  and  spreads 

Her  signal  round  the  sea : 

Time,  time  ! 

Time  to  awake  ;   to  arm  ; 

To  scale  the  difficult  shore  ! 

Even  so, 

Thou  Heart  of  the  dual  deep, 

Ere  the  plash  of  the  onset  came, 

In  the  vortices 

I  have  heard  thee  sigh. 

What  if  now 

Thou  failest,  our  saint,  our  star  ! 

Between  thy  Father's  tomb, 

And  the  throne  of  the  glittering  world, 

The  febrile  world, 

Calling, 

Ah,  Child  !  (have  I  lived  too  long  ?) 

I  have  heard  thee  sigh. 


ODE   FOR  A  MASTER  MARINER 
ASHORE 

HERE  in  his  room,  whene'er  the  moon 

looks  in, 
And    silvers  now  a  shell,  and  now  a 

i       fin, 

And  o'er  his  chart  glides  like  an  argosy, 
Quiet  and  old  sits  he. 

Danger  !   he  hath  grown  homesick  for  thy  smile. 
Where  hidest  thou  the  while,  heart's  boast, 
Strange  face  of  beauty  sought  and  lost, 
Star-face  that  lured  him  out  from  boyhood's  isle  ? 

Blown  clear  from  dull  indoors,  his  dreams  behold 

Night-water  smoke  and  sparkle  as  of  old, 

The  taffrail  lurch,  the  sheets  triumphant  toss 

Their  phosphor-flowers  across. 

Towards  ocean's  either  rim  the  long-exiled 

Wears  on,  till  stunted  cedars  throw 

A  lace-like  shadow  over  snow, 

Or  tropic  fountains  wash  their  agates  wild. 

Awhile,  play  up  and  down  the  briny  spar 
Odors  of  Surinam  and  Zanzibar, 

78 


A    MASTER    MARINER    ASHORE  79 

Till  blithely  thence  he  ploughs,  in  visions  new, 

The  Labradorian  blue ; 

All  homeless  hurricanes  about  him  break ; 

The  purples  of  spent  day  he  sees 

From  Samos  to  the  Hebrides, 

And  drowned  men  dancing  darkly  in  his  wake. 

Where  the  small  deadly  foam-caps,  well  descried, 

Top,  tier  on  tier,  the  hundred-mountained  tide, 

Away,  and  far  away,  his  pride  is  borne, 

Riding  the  noisy  morn, 

Plunges,  and    preens    her   wings,    and    laughs   to 

know 

The  helm  and  tightening  halyards  still 
Follow  the  urging  of  his  will, 
And  scoff  at  sullen  earth  a  league  below. 

Mischance  hath  barred  him  from  his  heirdom  high, 

And  shackled  him  with  many  an  inland  tie, 

And  of  his  only  wisdom  made  a  jibe 

Amid  an  alien  tribe  : 

No  wave  abroad  but  moans  his  fallen  state. 

The  trade-wind  ranges  now,  the  trade-wind  roars  ! 

Why  is  it  on  a  yellowing  page  he  pores  ? 

Ah,  why  this  hawser  fast  to  a  garden  gate  ? 

Thou  friend  so  long  withdrawn,  so  deaf,  so  dim, 
Familiar  Danger,  O  forget  not  him ! 


8O  A    MASTER    MARINER    ASHORE 

Repeat  of  thine  evangel  yet  the  whole 

Unto  his  subject  soul, 

Who  suffers  no  such  palsy  of  her  drouth, 

Nor  hath  so  tamely  worn  her  chain, 

But  she  may  know  that  voice  again, 

And  shake  the  reefs  with  answer  of  her  mouth. 

O  give  him  back,  before  his  passion  fail, 

The  singing  cordage  and  the  hollow  sail, 

And  level  with  those  aged  eyes  let  be 

The  bright  unsteady  sea; 

And  move  like  any  film  from  off  his  brain 

The  pasture  wall,  the  boughs  that  run 

Their  evening  arches^to  the  sun, 

The  hamlet  spire  across  the  sown  champaign ; 

And  on  the  shut  space  and  the  trivial  hour, 

Turn  the  great  floods  !  and  to  thy  spousal  bower, 

With  rapt  arrest  and  solemn  loitering, 

Him  whom  thou  lovedst,  bring : 

That  he,  thy  faithful  one,  with  praising  lip, 

Not  having,  at  the  last,  less  grace 

Of  thee  than  had  his  roving  race, 

Sum  up  his  strength  to  perish  with  a  ship. 


THE  RECRUIT 

O  much  to  me  is  imminent : 

To  leave  Revolt  that  is  my  tent, 
And  Failure,  chosen  for  my  bride, 


And  into  life's  highway  be  gone, 
Ere  yet  Creation  marches  on, 
Obedient,  jocund,  glorified ; 

And  last  of  things  afoot,  to  know 
How  to  be  free  is  still  to  go 
With  glad  concession,  grave  accord, 

Nor  longer,  bond  and  imbecile, 
Stand  out  against  the  gradual  Will, 
The  guessed  Fall  in  !  of  God  the  Lord, 
81 


The  Martyrs'  Idyl  first  came  out  in  the  Christmas 
number,  1898,  of  Harpers  Magazine.      With 
the  exception  of  that,  of  three  poems  taken  from 
"England and  Yesterday  "  (Grant  Richards,  Lon 
don),  and  of  one  other,  the  contents  of  this  volume 
appeared  prior  to  1896  in  Harper  s,  The 
Century,  The  Cosmopolitan,  The  Inde 
pendent,  The  Chap-Eook,  etc.,  to 
all  of  which  thanks  are  due 
for  the  courteous  per 
mission  to  reprint. 


ELECTROTYPED  AND  PRINTED 
BY  H.  O.   HOUGHTON   AND   CO. 


CAMBRIDGE,    MASS.,    U.   S.   A. 


"// 


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